Of Snow, Sorrow, and Warm Hearts
by KyberWolf
Summary: On a cold, snowy day in London, Aziraphale is surprised to bump into a certain acquaintance. But Crowley is not himself. It's obvious that he's in need of a friend at the moment, and Aziraphale will try his best to help, of course. If only Crowley would tell him what's wrong. But he will have to find out the hard way.


**So there I was, battling insomnia, no-feel-good, the works...and needed to write some fluffy angst for my Ineffable Husbands. While this piece quickly took on a life of its own, it was initially inspired by this beautiful animatic by Magismol-v on YouTube ( watch?v=RMmm4pRPACo&list=RD5T9uECZlNgg&index=3)**

**I know links don't work well (or not at all)on this site, I apologize. It was just so sweet and adorable...I had to go and ruin it...**

**Anyway, this takes place a few years before the Antichrist is born. Imagine Crowley's hair however you want ;D **

**Also please review!**

Aziraphale was not in any mood to leave the bookshop. London was gripped in the cold and snow of midwinter, and the angel was more than happy to spend the season indoors. Except, of course, to go out for decent food once in a while. He'd finished all of his Christmas miracles weeks ago, added quite a few extra, and was rather dried up of majik for it. Heaven wouldn't be giving him any assignments for awhile. There was absolutely no reason to go outside. And yet, as Aziraphale sat at his beloved cluttered desk, an open tome on its surface and a gently steaming mug of tea in one hand, he found himself looking frequently out the window.

The sun was out, though it's light only filtered weakly through the clouds. A few fluffy snowflakes drifted lazily to the streets, and it was just below thirty-two degrees. A rather nice day for this time of year, actually. That didn't necessarily create a reason to go outside though. Aziraphale took a sip of tea and dropped his eyes back to the book with fresh determination. They wouldn't stay there. He read the same sentence three times in a row while trying not to look out the window, before gently closing the book and sighing in exasperation.

"Is this you telling me I need some fresh air?" He said, looking up.

No one answered, but Aziraphale decided that perhaps a little walk would be refreshing. After all, he hadn't left the shop in days, or maybe weeks? He pulled on his coat and a knitted scarf before opening the door. The air outside was crisp but windless, smelling cleanly of winter-which admittedly was an improvement from the scent of old wood, ink, and maybe some mold that wafted through the shop. Double-checking that the CLOSED sign was firmly in place and as visible as possible, Aziraphale stepped outside and began walking. He headed in the direction of the nearest pastry shop, thinking to pick up something nice to go with his tea. He never made it there. Ten minutes after he'd begun walking, Aziraphale found himself heading towards Saint James' Park. Well, that was alright, he supposed. It was a perfectly lovely place to enjoy a winter stroll.

The grass was covered with new snow, as was the path. The lazy parts of the river were iced over, the open sections crowded with ducks. A few spotted Aziraphale and automatically began swimming towards him, quaking expectantly. Sighing, he miracled a little bread and tossed it to them, then hurried away before the rest noticed. He didn't have much majik to spare at the moment. He passed a certain snow-covered bench and took a moment to stare at it wistfully, fighting a sudden pang of loneliness. If only a certain acqaintence were around, Aziraphale would have been happy to appease the ducks for a while. He would have been happier to continue this chilly excursion, for that matter. It was snowing a little harder now, a breeze swirling the flakes. Aziraphale followed the walk-way into the trees, whose branches were bare but dense enough to darken the path and the benches that lined it.

Aziraphale nearly walked right past the dark figure huddled alone on one of the benches. But he would recognize those glasses anywhere. Elation fluttered through him, sweeping away all resentment of being out here.

"Why Crowley! Fancy seeing you out here in this weather."

The demon seemed to shudder out of some distant reverie. "Nnmph, H-hello, angel."

Aziraphale's joy faded to bemusement. That was about the most dejected greeting he'd ever received from Crowley. His teeth were chattering audibly and he was shivering, long limbs pressed against himself. He was wearing a winter coat but it was catered to style more than practicality. His tight black gloves and thin scarf couldn't have been very warm either. What could he be doing out here, anyway? It was an odd place to be on some hellish errand. Aziraphale found himself a little concerned.

"Are you alright, Crowley?"

Crowley seemed to cave even further in on himself, "M' fine," he mumbled.

He was definitely not fine. Crowley never mumbled. Crowley never came out in the cold to curl up on a bench. Crowley never met Aziraphale with anything less than jittery enthusiasm. Except perhaps that one time in Medieval Europe, another chilly, damp day, but even then he'd been nothing but laid-back sarcasm.

/

Crowley was rather regretting coming to Saint James, to this stupid bench in this stupid winter. He could be drinking away the pain in some stupid bar, instead of letting the cold numb it. But he'd come here instead, deliriously hoping that a certain angel would miraculously turn up. He also hoped the angel would stay well away, safe and content in his shop. It was stupid of him to come here. He was putting Aziraphale at risk. He was putting them both, their arrangement, their friendship, and their time together at risk, after what had happened yesterday. Well, now he'd gotten exactly what he'd been half-hoping for; the angel. Right here. Shivering ever so slightly in front of him. Satan, he really was an idiot.

"C-Crowley? Is something wrong?" Aziraphale brushed the snow off the bench and sat next to him. Crowley felt panic rising in him. Now, he couldn't decide what to do. His first instinct was to throw up a facade of his normal easy-going confidence and invite Aziraphale to a quick lunch, after which he could slip away to his flat and sleep off another decade or two. Hopefully that would be enough to wake up intact. The safest thing to do would be to leave now, say he was on some hellish assignment or whatever else would get Aziraphale to leave him alone. But now that they were here, Crowley wasn't sure he could bare that. All he _wanted_ to do was throw himself into the angel's arms and let the tears run.

/

Crowley flinched when Aziraphale reached out to touch his shoulder. Crowley never _flinched_. What could have possibly happened to make him this upset?

"What on Earth is the matter, dear?!" Aziraphale's voice tremored with unfiltered worry. Something was very wrong, and he was unsure how to react. He'd seen the demon in a variety of bad moods, but nothing like _this_. Crowley took a labored breath and turned away from Aziraphale.

"Nothing. Look, we shouldn't be here, angel. Go home, why don't you?"

He stood up abruptly, though the movement seemed to take more effort than it should have. He began to walk away, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

Aziraphale huffed indignantly, before standing up himself. Well, that was a clear dismissal. He probably should have walked off. There was probably a reason Crowley was pushing him away...Instead Aziraphale dashed to catch up with him. He couldn't stand the thought of leaving Crowley in this state, especially when it might be months or years before they spoke again.

/

Crowley didn't stop when Aziraphale drew next to him. "Crowley? _Crowley_."

Aziraphale snatched the demon's hand, pulling him to an abrupt halt. "My dear boy, you are not getting rid of me until you tell me what's wrong with you!"

Crowley hissed through his teeth but made no effort to pull his hand away. "Nothing's _wrong_, angel." A lie. "It's just not a good time."

"_Why?_"

Crowley shrugged, making a muffled grunt into his scarf.

"You're not angry with me, are you?" Aziraphale asked quietly, releasing Crowley's hand.

"What? No! No, of course not, angel."

"An assignment, then?"

"No!"

Dammit. He should have said yes. But he hadn't wanted to.

"Well then," Aziraphale said tentatively, "Why don't we find a nice cafe? Some coffee would do you good, my dear. You aren't meant to be out in this temperature."

That was true, even if one or five bottles of Scotch would have been preferable at the moment. Crowley was shivering violently. He wasn't necessarily cold-blooded in this form, but a snake is a snake. He nodded, both reluctantly and with relief. The snow was swirling ever wilder as they walked side by side under the trees. Aziraphale inquired about the location of the Bentley, but Crowley shook his head. He'd left the car at the flat, so they walked all the way back into town towards Aziraphale's favorite coffee shop. At some point, Crowley shyly brushed his hand against Aziraphale's. The angel took it without hesitation and squeezed, sending a lovely warmth up Crowley's arm.

The cafe was uncrowded and blessedly warm. Aziraphale held Crowley's hand all the way up to the counter, then let go to greet the store owner and point to the menu. Crowley immediately missed the touch. They'd never done that before. They'd never touched each other, not even when they were drunk. Was his discomposure really that obvious? Yes, it probably was, but he found he didn't really care. It was Aziraphale, after all. Crowley decided to let the angel do the human-interaction, while he found a table for two by the window. He hunched his shoulders in discomfort, burrowing into his scarf. As much as he hated cold, it had done a decent job of masking the pain. He stared out the window and listened to Aziraphale's sweet, cheerful voice, a beautiful distraction. Just the one he'd unwillingly been hoping for. A few minutes later, Crowley felt a steaming cup of coffee being pressed into his hands. Aziraphale pulled the other chair over to be closer to him, setting a cup of cocoa and a neat package of cookies on the table.

/

Aziraphale took a few moments to let them both settle. He tentatively sipped his cocoa, very nearly burning his tongue. The coffee was probably even hotter, but he watched Crowley take two large gulps without so much as a grimace. Well, he probably couldn't be burned, being a demon. Eventually, he seemed to relax a little and Azriaphale decided it was safe to speak.

"So, what's been happening on your end?"

Crowley stiffened slightly, as if he knew exactly where Aziraphale would pull this conversation and didn't want to go there. It wasn't that he wanted to pry. He knew Crowley to be a very private person despite all his bravado. But Aziraphale had never seen him like this, all brazen attitude vanished. He seemed broken, and it was hurting Aziraphale's heart. He would try to let Crowley talk when he was ready, but one way or another, he needed to find out what was going on. Even though Crowley had tried to send him off, Aziraphale knew he'd also been hoping for him to show up. He now knew why he'd been restless in his shop all afternoon. It was clear that Crowley needed him right now.

"Nng, you know, the usual. Small temptation here and there. Get some teens drunk on New Year's, that sort of thing. How 'bout you?"

Aziraphale played along, "Nothing exciting. Performed a few too many miracles for Christmas and Hannakuh and the like. Recieved a pointed note about not having enough majik to carry out any errands for a while. I suppose I'm on vacation," he finished with a chuckle.

Crowley smiled a tiny smile, the first Aziraphale managed to get out of him today. It was a start. He knew that Crowley liked to just listen sometimes, so he chattered away for nearly an hour, about whatever came to his mind. Occasionally Crowley would put in a word or two, but for the most part he just worked on his coffee and remained silent. Maybe he imagined it, but Aziraphale swore that Crowley's shoulders were shaking slightly, even though the cafe was quite cozy.

When the food disappeared, and they had no more reason to stay, Aziraphale gently suggested finding a bus. Crowley didn't seem enthusiastic about leaving, but he stood and headed for the door before Aziraphale could say 'of course, we could stay longer.' They didn't speak at all while walking to the bus stop, or while waiting for the bus. Crowley just hovered gloomily around Aziraphale, keeping close to his angelic warmth.

"We'll be home soon, dear," Aziraphale murmured as they settled at the rear of the bus when it arrived. Like the cafe it was nearly deserted.

"Gett'n blustery out there, eh?" The driver called back. The two other passengers enthusiastically agreed, so Aziraphale didn't feel the need to say anything. No one paid any mind to the two entities huddled in the background. He still hadn't managed to weedle out any hint of what was eating at Crowley, but for now he was content just to keep channeling his warmth into the demon leaning against him, and watch frozen London passing by the foggy window. To his utter astonishment, Crowley fell asleep before they'd made three stops, his head resting lightly on Aziraphale's shoulder. That was sweet, and a welcome sign of trust, but it only increased Aziraphale's concern. He knew Crowley liked to sleep, but it wasn't like him to just drop off in public. Aziraphale let the bus blow right past any roads that would take them to Mayfair, quietly directing it straight to his place instead. Crowley jolted awake when they hit a nasty pothole, just a few blocks from A.Z. Fell and Co.

"Why'er we in Soho?" He muttered, glaring suspiciously at Aziraphale.

"I thought we'd spend the night at my place?"

"Are you crazy, angel? It's too risky!" Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale was taken aback. "We've done it before. Plenty of times! Besides, since when are _you_ above taking risks?"

Crowley seemed to consider that. But he turned his head away and ground out, "Aziraphale, you don't understand. It's riskier than usual."

"Oh dear, are they watching you? "

"Maybe. Either way, it's not a good time, like I _said_."

"You're not in trouble are you?"

"Look, angel, you're putting yourself in danger. Just let me go home. It-it was good to see you, but we really can't be doing this."

Aziraphale could tell that Crowley was about to halt the bus early and jump right off. He was ready and willing to walk all the way to his flat, even if it discorporated him. And Aziraphale was beginning to suspect it might. Crowley wasn't just depressed, he was _exhausted_, and Aziraphale still didn't know why.

"You've put yourself in danger for _me_. How many tight spots have you gloated about pulling me out of, hmm? We've been putting ourselves in danger ever since we started this, my dear." He took Crowley's hand and said firmly, "I can tell something is wrong, Crowley. You aren't well and I know I shouldn't, but I want to help you. And if there _is_ any unusual risk to our arrangement, I want to know _exactly_ what it is, in detail, in the shop."

The bus was about to halt at their stop. "Please, Crowley. It will be miserable for you to go anywhere in this weather anyway."

"Fffine." Crowley growled, though it was clear he was fighting with himself.

They exited the bus, Aziraphale tipping the driver generously on the way out. He hurried to open the door for Crowley, worried the demon might still decide to slip away if he looked away for even a second. He majiked the lights on and gently shut the door. Crowley headed straight for the couch in the back room and collapsed on it. Aziraphale grabbed the book he'd been trying to read earlier from his desk and placed it on the coffee table between the couch and the chair he now took. He would need it later most likely.

"Comfortable?"

"Ngk."

"Alrighty then. Now will you please tell me what's gotten you like this?"

Crowley seemed to consider saying something along the lines of 'like what?' but instead took a dramatically long breath and sat up a little more on the couch. He finally removed his sunglasses and tossed them aside, as Aziraphale had been fighting the urge to do himself all day. For the first time today, he could meet Crowley's sharp, venomous eyes. They were strained and lacking all the fire they usually glowed with. He seemed to consider his words very carefully before answering, which wasn't exactly a good sign.

"You remember why we first started the arrangement?"

"Of course," Aziraphale said, "To make things easier for ourselves, to be more efficient."

"Because we both suck at our jobs."

"I wouldn't say that," he mumbled, slightly offended. Aziraphale wouldn't say he _sucked_ at his job. He always carried out his assignments one way or _another_. He performed miracles for people on a near daily basis-a few too many, on some occasions. He enjoyed helping people. He loved people. Sure, he was prone to forming attachments to material objects, indulging in food and drink, performing a curse for every ten blessings…maybe he wasn't perfect.

Crowley continued, "Well I _really_ fucked it up yesterday, and I don't know how safe either of us are going to be for awhile."

Aziraphale felt his heart tighten. "Oh. You did get in trouble then."

"That's one way to put it, yup."

"And it's my fault."

"Wot?"

"Isn't it? They saw you with me. Or was it that blessing I asked you to cover last month? Oh, I knew I shouldn't have!"

"No, ang-"

"-That's why you didn't want to see me. They hurt you, didn't they? I'm so sorry, dear."

Crowley had sprung to an up-right position. This time Aziraphale definitely didn't miss the wince it caused. "No, Aziraphale! It wasn't your fault! You had absolutely nothing to do with it! I swear!"

"What did they do to you? Tell me, please."

/

Crowley couldn't stand the way Aziraphale was looking at him. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted. Aziraphale pitying him and blaming himself. He hadn't wanted Aziraphale to see what could happen to him if it all went wrong. For one thing, it hurt him. For another, it hurt Crowley. He didn't like the idea of _anyone_ seeing him beaten and broken like this. Yet the whole reason he was here was because he'd wanted nothing more than for the angel to be with him, for he knew he could let his guard down with Aziraphale and really, keeping it up was getting exhausting...Crowley's greatest fear at the moment though, was that Aziraphale might decide once and for all that the arrangement, which had become so much more, could not continue. Perhaps he would be right. But Crowley found that he didn't want to face the rest of eternity without one person to call his friend. Or whatever he considered Aziraphale at this point.

Finally he said, "Nothing. They just…left a rude note."

He could see Aziraphale didn't believe him.

/

Aziraphale wasn't sure he wanted to see what exactly Hell had done to Crowley to shatter him this way. He felt he needed to. Perhaps he could help. Could an angel heal a demon? It was possible he would only make it worse. His power to heal came from the same power that could destroy a demon. It was probably too risky, and either way he wasn't about to find out. Crowley seemed determined to keep it to himself, which made it all the more troubling just how badly he must have been punished for...whatever he'd done. Aziraphale remembered the few occasions he'd seen Crowley hurt. He may have been spry but he couldn't get away from _every_ tight spot without getting nicked once in a while. He'd been an avid complainer each time. The fact that he wasn't now made Aziraphale desperate with worry, but he reluctantly decided he'd pushed Crowley far enough tonight.

"Why don't you get some rest, dear," he said quietly, "The shop is under protection, so as long as no one saw us enter, we will be safe. At least from your people, though I wouldn't worry about mine. Gabriel has only come to check on me in person twice this whole decade."

Crowley made no objection. He gingerly lowered himself onto the couch cushions and shut his eyes. After a moment he opened them again. "Angel?"

"Yes?"

"If the shop is under protection, how is it that I can come and go?"

"Oh." Aziraphale couldn't resist a conspiratorial grin. "I might have bent the wards a little for a certain associate of mine."

Not a little. Aziraphale had had to completely tear down the wards and rebuild them to allow Crowley access, little by little so as not to be noticed by his superiors.

The gratitude that spread across Crowley's tired face was genuine. Aziraphale could _feel_ it, and it was so much better than verbal thanks. Crowley closed his eyes again, and Aziraphale picked up his book from the coffee table, settling in for a long night of watching over his demon.

/

It was nearly 2:00 AM when Aziraphale realized something was wrong. It had taken a long while for Crowley to fall asleep, though he hadn't spoken or moved again. Aziraphale could tell by the way his breathing had a slight hitch that faded once the deep, oblivious rhythm of sleep took over. After finding a blanket to drape over the demon, he tried doggedly to continue reading, but was too distracted by anxiety to get very far. And then the shaking started. Crowley was whimpering in his sleep, his breath erratic and panicked. Aziraphale nearly toppled his chair jumping out of it. He dropped to Crowley's side in alarm. He was curled in on himself, drenched in cold sweat, every muscle tense as Aziraphale began to shake him.

"Crowley?!"

"Crowley!"

"Wake up, dear, please!"

"_Crowley, wake up!"_

The demon flew awake all at once. He lashed out with the snarl of a trapped animal. Aziraphale felt claws rip over his cheek. He hadn't even known Crowley had claws. As he reeled back, he barely registered Crowley's wings vaulting out of his back. Trapped in the tight space they hit the nearby shelves, sending several antiques crashing to the floor. The sound of breaking glass and his own pained yelp seemed to jolt him back to reality. Crowley stilled, and with one hand planted over his bleeding cheek Azirahpale turned to see his fiery eyes darting around the room, teeth clenched and fangs glinting in the light of the single lamp he'd left on.

"Crowley?" he whispered shakily.

"A-Aziraphale?"

"It's me, Crowley, I'm here. You're sa-" Aziraphale's throat constricted and he choked on the words when he caught sight of Crowley's wings.

"Oh, no...my dear...oh, no."

They were in tatters. Half the primaries and secondaries were missing or broken. Those that remained in one piece were thoroughly shredded. What coverts hadn't been brutally ripped away were equally ragged and sticky with blood that oozed from where the downier feathers had been sheared off. The exposed delicate skin was lacerated, scraped and ruined.

Aziraphale couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his face. It stung horribly when they hit the wounds on his cheek but he didn't care. They were nothing. All he could process was the sight of Crowley's maimed wings. This was so much worse than whatever Aziraphale had been imagining earlier. Crowley's superiors hadn't afflicted his human corporation. They'd brutalized a sacred part of his true form. Wings were the pride and joy of any demon or angel. And they took a very long time to heal when damaged this badly. Just what had Crowley done to earn this punishment?

Tentatively Aziraphale stepped towards Crowley. He seemed to be calming down. He stood on shaking legs, his shoulders slumping with pain and weariness. His cheeks were pale and wet with tears as well.

"I'm so sorry, dear boy." He ever so gently guided Crowley into his arms. He had to brace himself as the demon fell against him, trembling, all remaining strength vanquished. The worst part was that Crowley was trying so hard not to cry. His spine was stiff from the effort, his breath caged and heavy but defiant. Tears dampened Aziraphale's clothes anyway.

"It's alright, Crowley. It's okay to cry."

"It _hurts_."

"I know. I'm sorry."

They stayed that way for a long time. Aziraphale's legs were starting to burn from supporting their combined weight. Both his shoulders were wet, one side with blood, the other with tears.

Eventually Crowley seemed to gather himself. "You're bleeding, angel."

"Oh, _I'm_ bleeding, am I? Don't worry about it."

The cuts burned awfully, but Crowley didn't need to know that. Besides, when this was all over, Aziraphale would be far more concerned for his badly stained waist-coat.

"Sorry. I-I thought you were someone else for a moment."

"I understand, dear, it's fine. It will heal perfectly well." He began to shift their weight towards the couch. "Why don't we sit down? Let me see what I can do about your wings."

Crowley tried to pull away. "No! Aziraphale, if you heal me, they'll know! They'll figure it out! Just-I'll be fine-s'not the first tim-" He stopped himself too late. "Shit."

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. "What do you mean, 'not the first time?!'

Crowley made a noncommittal noise and wouldn't meet his eyes.

Aziraphale only sighed. That conversation could wait a few minutes more. "I don't know if I _can_ heal you. I'm an angel, you're a demon. We're not even meant to touch each other. Just let me clean up this mess. I won't use any majik, I promise. Please, Crowley."

He hesitated, but nodded wearily. Aziraphale helped him settle on the couch, leaning over the back chest-first, legs folded beneath him, so that his ruined wings faced Aziraphale sitting on the coffee table. The angel had run warm water into a bowl and found some old handkerchiefs to use for soft cloth, and a pair of clippers. He owned several books on herbology and healing which he'd only ever skimmed, but still picked up a few things. He'd promised not to use majik directly on Crowley, but that didn't mean he couldn't miracle up a few natural remedies. It all but drained him to materialize yarrow, aloe vera, and comfrey, but he hoped it would be worth it.

He began the tedious work of dabbing away the blood from the intact feathers and as gently as possible around the torn skin. Crowley hissed through his teeth at every other touch, but Aziraphale persevered, smearing on his herbal concoction.

"I thought you said no miracles, angel." Crowley said suddenly, a hard edge to his voice.

"I'm not using any, dear."

"Then how's it feeling better?"

"Oh, that will be the aloe. Never underestimate earthly remedies."

"Huh," Crowley blinked in surprise. "Wouldn't've thought that stuff would work on something like this."

"I'm a little surprised myself, frankly."

"If God got one thing right, it was inventing plants." Crowley murmured, relaxing more as the poultice took effect.

Aziraphale decided not to comment on that and continued to pull out the feathers that were damaged close to the follicles and clip those that were only ragged near the ends. In the end, there wasn't a single feather that wouldn't have to molt and grow back in order to be functional. Even though they were unsavable, Aziraphale felt a little pang of guilt with each removal. He'd only seen Crowley's wings once or twice, long ago, but he remembered them to be beautiful. Sleek and raven-black, well-cared for. As he worked, Aziraphale could indeed see faint scars marring the limbs, even a couple places where a feather had grown back improperly after being ripped out at a bad angle. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes again.

"How many times, Crowley?"

"Mm?"

"How many times did they do this to you? I want the truth."

Crowley turned his body just enough to meet Aziraphale's gaze. It seemed he was finally ready to talk. "Three. Including this."

How? _Why?_ Crowley was favored in Hell for the most part. Aziraphale remembered all the times they'd laughed about all the things Crowley got himself commended for that he'd had nothing to do with. If they'd caught him lying, his credibility might have gone down some, but Hell was proud of its liars. That could really only leave one obvious reason.

As if he anticipated Aziraphale's thought process, Crowley said, "I was telling the truth when I said this had nothing to do with you, angel."

Aziraphale looked him straight in the eye. "This time. But it's been my fault before. Hasn't it?"

"Azira—"

"—_Hasn't it?"_

"…Once."

Aziraphale's chin drooped and Crowley quickly continued. "It wasn't your _fault,_ Aziraphale. We just happened to meet wrong place, wrong time. They saw me talking with an angel instead of kicking his ass. Probably heard me talking trash on Ligur, too."

"The second time?"

"Botched an assignment from Satan himself. That was the only time it was authorized. Beelzebub and the others don't often order this type of thing, it's usually just a matter of getting in the way of the wrong people. Except when you disappoint the real boss, of course."

Aziraphale was not in any way relieved. Crowley was brushing this off like it was nothing, even though he was so clearly in terrible pain. Well, it _was_ Hell. What did Aziraphale expect? Perhaps he'd gotten so used to Crowley's laid-back if not kindly personality, that he'd come to underestimate other demons.

/

"I know what you're thinking and no, I'm not the only one. Hell's full of some real bullies, but I'm not their only chew-toy. I'm not being targeted because of you or being up here too often, least not nearly as much as some of the other blokes who don't hide it as well."

"You've got enemies, then?" Aziraphale said stiffly.

"Of _course _I have enemies, angel…But I have a friend too," Crowley gingerly raised his wings so he could turn around on the couch. They were horribly sore still, and would be for a long time, but they felt clean and Aziraphale's herbal cocktail had taken the edge off the burning pain. Meeting his hazel eyes again, Crowley had to make sure that this incident wouldn't drive him away. "I have one good friend and that's all I need. Angel, please don't let this change anything. You said it yourself, I'm not usually above taking risks. You're right, I'm not, and this one is worth taking. It always has been."

Aziraphale gave him a look. "You were trying rather hard to get rid of me earlier."

"Well, I was also serious when I said it was riskier than usual! I don't want you getting hurt anymore than you don't want me getting hurt! By either of our people."

"My dear, Heaven wouldn't hurt me. I know I'm always going on about how much trouble I'd be in for consorting with you, but I could always tell them I was using you to spy."

Crowley couldn't help grinning with a little pride. He could always count on Aziraphale to be more rebellious than he would ever admit to himself. He was a genuine angel in many ways but he was an angel who deceived and lied and disobeyed, even meddled in things he probably wasn't supposed to. It was part of why Crowley had always liked him. It was also part of the risk…

Aziraphale continued, "They'd reprimand me, demote me perhaps, but they're Heaven. They'd never hurt me."

Crowley wasn't so sure about that. They'd hurt _him_ for less. They'd hurt him a lot actually, and now that he thought about it, Aziraphale was a bit like he had been, in another life. It was a scary thought. Crowley balanced his fear of Aziraphale ending their relationship with the fear of Aziraphale _Falling_. Being a good person wasn't good enough for Heaven. Not for an angel, who wasn't supposed to be anything less than perfect according to their standards. Crowley knew Heaven didn't deserve Aziraphale, but there was even less place for him in Hell. At least the Aziraphale he was now. After the pain and trauma and destruction of Falling, he would wake up a different entity, and that was the scariest thought of all.

"What happened yesterday?" The question cut through Crowley's thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, right. Hastur and his goons were letting off steam and tried to burn down a children's hospital. I…got in the way. Tried to make it look like an accident, but I didn't have time to make a good plan. It probably wouldn't have made a difference, anyway. Hastur's one of the most temperamental bastards they've got. The hospital's fine though."

Aziraphale's jaw dropped slightly. It seemed to take a moment for him to process that, and then he said something that pulled Crowley's emotions in several different directions, "Oh, Crowley. Sometimes I wonder how you ever could have Fallen."

Crowley sniffed. Hearing the term out loud reminded him that he really didn't care for it. _Falling_ implied that he'd actually done something to deserve it. He hadn't Fallen. He'd been _kicked out_, thank you very much. Hell was not a pleasant place, and while Crowley often resented being stuck there, he had no respect left for Heaven and little reason to want to go back. Really, if they hadn't sent him plummeting as a ball of fire to the cold, lifeless underworld, he would have walked himself out eventually. They'd wronged him, and countless others, and they would wrong Aziraphale too if he wasn't careful.

Sometimes he really did feel that they were no better than Hell, especially when they themselves had created it. There would be no Hell if Heaven hadn't needed somewhere to dump those that hadn't kept up with their standards. He felt so when he looked at Aziraphale, kind and loving Aziraphale_,_ knowing that he was trapped in a net of lawful perfection. The same way Crowley was trapped by expectations of evil that he didn't always believe in.

"You know, it's not really not our job to go around smiting people." _Unlike some entities_. "Wreaking a little mayhem here and there is one thing. But killing people? Some of the truly bitter hellions forget that all we're supposed to do is test the humans' spirits and collect those that aren't good enough for Heaven. We exist to claim souls, not end lives. That kinda defeats the purpose, doesn't it? Besides it's way more interesting, not to mention _effective_, to let those kids grow up into whatever horrible bastards they're going to be and gather them up from there."

"And you were always a big softie for children."

Aziraphale was smiling warmly at him. Crowley glared back in offense but couldn't keep the laughter from his voice. "Well of course, angel. They're excellent little demons, children. Absolute nightmares. Us real devils could retire if only human kids would take over."

"Then why let them grow up to be horrible bastards, hmm?" Aziraphale was laughing at Crowley's expense now. That would not do.

"Um...because..._because _children may be worse than grown-ups in the _short-term_, but in the _long-term,_ grown humans have a much more wide-spread effect on each other. Yup, that's the way to do it!"

Aziraphale had tears in his eyes from reigning in his myrth. "My dear boy, you may be a wily old serpent, but you don't fool me for a second. It's just like Noah's Ark all those centuries ago. I know you saved some of those people."

"Shut up, angel."

"It's true, then. Well, I suppose at that time it was a conveniently rude gesture to the Almighty-"

"Exactly!"

"-All the same, Crowley, I would say you've got yourself a good bit of free-will."

Crowley knew that; he was good at getting his way. Personally, he thought everyone had free-will, including supernatural and ethereal entities. The idea that they didn't stemmed from the fact that their respective societies were so strict and binding that freedom of thought was thoroughly brain-washed out of most of them. Of course, demons were evil by nature, and angels good by nature. Crowley was often happier causing problems for people rather than solving them. But free-will was about more than choosing between good and evil, if you asked him. It was about choosing how to be evil, and how to be good. Crowley would never be evil by causing pain, the same way Aziraphale would never be good by being frugal. That was their choice, and that was free-will, at least that was his theory. If nothing else, Crowley had spent enough time among chaotic humans to learn to think for himself, and he believed the same of Aziraphale. It was one of the many reasons he very much liked people, and very much enjoyed Earth. He said as much aloud.

"I suppose that must be so," Aziraphale replied, "I do find I enjoy my time here far more than I should sometimes."

Crowley decided that with his dignity just barely avoiding annihilation, this was more than enough philosophical nonsense for one night. He sent his wings back to the other plane so he could stop putting effort into holding them off the furniture. They flickered stubbornly in and out of reality but really were feeling better now.

"How long will they take to heal, do you think?" asked Aziraphale.

"Oooh, I dunno...month or two." The last time it had been six years before he could fly again. Not that demons flew very often; the wings of supernatural entities are more for show than anything else, but it left one with a rather vulnerable and trapped sort of feeling. Not to mention the fact that his wings were not going to be very showable with half the feathers gone and the rest suffering damage. But Aziraphale didn't need to know that.

"You should rest more, then. I'll be right here, in case..."

Crowley wasn't all that eager to go back to sleep, weary as he was, not after the first attempt had gone so swimmingly. Aziraphale was still covered in his own blood. "Mmn, I should probably bugger off soon. I've given you enough trouble for one night, and you've helped me plenty."

"It's no trouble at all, Crowley! You can stay here as long as you need! At least till first light? The weather is no better than it was earlier, and it's almost three in the morning."

Aziraphale looked like he had half a mind to barricade the backroom to keep Crowley in it. He released a sigh. "Alright. First Light. But, Aziraphale?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Maybe put some music on? Or an audiobook even, if that's more your thing."

He remembered too late that Aziraphale probably didn't even know what an audiobook was, but the angel gave him an 'of course, dear' and set about messing with his record player. Crowley shuddered inwardly as an ancient and grainy rendition of Mozart filled the room. Really, he was a little fed up with Queen, but his car certainly had better taste than his angel. Aziraphale grabbed the blanket that had fallen on the floor and tucked it around Crowley's shoulders again.

"I'm going to make us some tea. I'll be right back in just a moment."

As soon as he had bustled off to the kitchenette, Crowley decided to test his majik out. Now that he was feeling a tiny bit better, a little devilish spark had returned to his spirit and that record was just _asking_ for it. It stuttered when he snapped his fingers once, but after a couple tries, it worked just fine.

/

Aziraphale startled as the symphony he was humming to abruptly switched to

_Got a pain in the chest_

_Doctors on strike what you need is a rest_

_It's not easy love_

_But you've got friends you can trust_

He nearly dropped his favorite mug, and he certainly lost a few drops of hot liquid to the floor. He hurried back into the room with the steaming tea.

"Crowley, what on Earth did you do to my record?!"

"Made it tolerable. Don't worry, it'll wear off...I think."

_Friends will be friends_

_When you're in need of love they give you care and attention_

Aziraphale sighed. Irritating as it was to have his vintage anything tampered with, he couldn't really argue with the lyrics. Besides, it could only mean that Crowley really was feeling better. He handed the demon his cup and settled back into his own chair. "Mischievous snake," he said, just for the sake of _some_ resistance .

"Yep, that's me."Crowley tentatively took a sip, eyes widening. "You spiked this!"

"Just a little brandy. I don't think you should go getting yourself drunk in this state, but a little bit couldn't hurt."

"Mmm, I like your thinking, angel."

_When you're through with life and all hope is lost_

_Hold out your hand 'cause friends will be friends_

_Right till the end_

The rest of the night was mostly peaceful. They talked about the little things they always talked about, books and plants, interesting humans they'd met recently and old misadventures. They listened to the music in companionable silence, convincing Crowley that he just might actually be able to convert the angel into a fan of modern music, someday.

Crowley did nod off again, eventually, and while he did show outward signs of unpleasant dreams, Aziraphale didn't have to wake him again. It was a sign that he was still unwell, for demons weren't actually supposed to dream. But Aziraphale had no miracles left to use to banish the nightmares.

/

When pale morning light dusted the shop interior, Crowley stirred. He was unused to actually waking to the sun. His bedroom in the flat had no windows and he made sure no light ever bled under the door. No self-respecting demon ever got up early, afterall. But he'd lingered here long enough. He couldn't afford to be seen here, and if some up-tight archangels did come sniffing around, he didn't want to leave anymore of his brimstone scent on Aziraphale's couch. To his slight surprise, the principality in question had actually dozed off as well, serene in his chair with his book still open in his lap.

Crowley considered slipping away without disturbing him. It would be easier than convincing him all over again to let him leave. Besides that, he prefered to avoid any exchange resembling a good-bye. Then again, he didn't want Aziraphale to have a heart-attack upon finding him gone. It was an embarrassing way to discorporate and Aziraphale would be beyond cross with him.

He quietly sat up, wincing as his sore wings protested, even in the other plane. Yet the prevailing burn was a far cry from the agony he'd been putting up with the last couple days. Majik or no, whatever Aziraphale had done had worked a small miracle. He groped around for his sunglasses, only to find them broken on the floor. He must have stepped on them last night during the... incident. He glared at them until they were in one piece again. Looking around, he realized they were not the only thing he'd broken. He'd jolted the shelves on either side of the couch and While it seemed Aziraphale had replaced the fallen books while Crowley slept, he'd had no majik to repair the other items that had been crushed beneath them. With a little demonic imagination, Crowley set them to rights, although they probably looked a little different then they had before.

"Didn't think you were one to sleep at all, angel," Crowley poked Aziraphale's shoulder.

The angel woke instantly. "Oh! Good morning, Crowley. How do you feel?"

"Alright. Much better."

"I'm glad, dear. I suppose you'll want to be off then."

Crowley nodded, "S'for the best."

"I know. Though you're _sure_ you don't want to nip breakfast somewhere?"

Crowley nodded again, bouncing on the balls of his feet, happy that his legs didn't feel shaky anymore. Not that he _wanted_ to leave, but there was no longer any justification for staying.

"Alright then."

They walked to the door, but Aziraphale didn't open it. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words.

"I promise I'll stay out of trouble, angel. I'll just cause trouble, not get in it."

Aziraphale chuckled. "If you say so, dear. All the same, I, er, well I...hoped I might help you stay out of trouble. Had a little idea, perhaps."

Before Crowley could manifest a question, he was shocked by the sight of Aziraphale's wings appearing and filling the space around them. Lovely, silken, moonlight wings. The feathers were less tidy than Crowley would have expected from impeccable Aziraphale, but beautiful nonetheless. Aziraphale bent one towards himself, reaching for the innermost primary.

"Aziraphale, wha-"

He grit his teeth and yanked, just as Crowley realized what he was doing and threw out a hand to stop him. He was too late. The pearly white feather rested lightly in its owner's hand, being held out to Crowley.

"Angel, w-what did you do that for-_why_?!"

"The next time someone tries to hurt you, Crowley, the next time you get in someone's way, you make sure they stay out of yours. You show them this, and tell them that you, ah, erm, kicked an angel's ass. Anyone with half a brain will think twice about bullying you then."

Crowley was at an absolute loss for words. His tongue fluttered uselessly in his half-open mouth. He could only stare wide-eyed at the pure white feather, a gift he sure as Hell was not worthy of, and balked at the thought of taking it from his angel, nevermind using it against him.

"Nnn, um, hmmph," He began gesturing wildly. "I-can't."

Aziraphale grabbed one of his flailing hands, pressing the feather into his palm and forcing his fingers to curl around it. It was incredibly soft and slightly warm, tingling a little against his skin.

"You can, dear," Aziraphale said softly, "Just think of it as insurance."

Crowley very slowly brought his shaking hand against his chest, immensely careful not to rumple the feather between his fingers. "It's part of you."

"And I'm giving it to you."

"...Okay."

Part of Crowley really wanted to throw his arms around the angel and spill several centuries' worth of unvoiced gratitude. But that probably wouldn't be appropriate, now would it. They both stood a moment, in somewhat awkward silence before Crowley couldn't take it anymore.

"I'll, er, be off then."

"Right, then," Aziraphale opened the door and they both blinked in bright sunlight. The air was crisp but the sky was clear, the street slushy, and the sidewalk fluffy with yesterday's snowfall. "Well, isn't that lovely? Until next time, Crowley," he said, and held out his hand.

After a moment's hesitation, Crowley grasped it and shook firmly. "Until next time. And Aziraphale? Thank you."

"Now, now, watch your language, fiend."

That earned a wide grin from Crowley, enough to glimpse his snippy fangs. He turned and left, the bounce returned to his step as he blended with the pedestrians and disappear.

/

Aziraphale called Crowley on the phone several times in the coming months, just to be sure he was alright. After the fifth time Crowley exasperatedly assured the angel that he was perfectly-fine-dammit, and that the new downy feathers were starting to come in, Aziraphale let it lie and let them lay low. They didn't see each other at all. They avoided Saint James's Park. They avoided the buses. Aziraphale ordered delivery. Crowley stayed well away from Soho, basically hibernating in his flat. Aziraphale steered clear of Mayfair, even when he began receiving assignments again, and had to venture out of his shop as often as once a week.

It was over two years later, when Aziraphale heard from Crowley again. It was nearly midnight, a full moon dimly lighting the topmost level of the bookshop. Snow and frost dusted the sky-light, creating strangely patterned shadows on the shelves, what parts of the floor that were visible, and the tomes that hid the rest. Aziraphale was busy among the shelves, trying to find space for a new collection of coveted volumes that he'd uncovered at an antique auction. There was no space, of course, so he was trying his best to make it. Anyone else would have become lost in A.Z. Fell's labyrinthine library, but not the angel himself. He had a system. A system that was far too chaotic for any self-respecting angel and of which he often had to bend the rules.

He was rearranging one of the very top shelves, hoping to squeeze in just one more book, when a burst of light in his face nearly startled him right off the already wobbling stool he was perched on. With a yelp, he realized it was a gently flaming envelope, except it was burning in reverse, the tiny, smoldering embers materializing into creamy yellow paper. Aziraphale snatched it out of the air before it set any of its highly flammable surroundings ablaze. Really, did Crowley think he could just send a letter _on fire_ in a _bookstore?!_ There were going to be words later.

But Aziraphale's heart was fluttering with excitement. Two years was very little time to them, but after their last meeting? Aziraphale had been longing to check up on Crowley for most of that time. When the rather large envelope settled down and the last pricks of red flame went out, Aziraphale stepped down from the stool and carefully tore it open. What brushed his fingers inside made him gasp.

With a trembling hand he pulled out a smooth, glossy feather. It was inky black as the night sky, and shaped like a knife blade. Whereas Aziraphale's own feathers had a sort of soft glow about them, Crowley's had a sheen that reminded him of moonlight on water. What brought tears to the corners of Aziraphale's eyes though, was the fact that it was new and whole. Not a nick of damage to be seen.

As if becoming impatient with him, the envelope belched out the rest of its content onto Aziraphale's floor before bursting into flames again, this time burning normally until it fizzled into nothing. Aziraphale picked up the note and unfolded it. Scrawled in charcoal, in an overly-dramatic font, was Crowley's message:

_**Dear Angel, **_

_**This is for you, A part of me,**_

_**Just in Case… **_

_**With Malevolence, **_

_**A.J. Crowley **_

Aziraphale could hardly contain his joy. And really, why should he? Crowley was going to be alright. With hope, he would be alright from now on. Aziraphale ran his finger up and down the shaft of his feather, marveling at its elegance. In that moment he yearned to see it among its siblings along the demon's full wing span, spreading under some full moon in some distant time. Perhaps he would someday. Perhaps they could...go flying someday. A silly thought; Aziraphale nearly made himself laugh thinking it. He brushed it from his mind, and with fresh energy he went to go find a lovely place for the treasure he'd been given. He couldn't stop himself from whistling the Queen song in his head.

_Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had_

_I've been with you such a long time, you're my sunshine_

_And I want you to know that my feelings are true_

_I really love you_

After all, his record had never changed back.


End file.
